Magic, Mischief and Mayhem
by RemyDico5
Summary: There is a tradition that when a member of the British Aristocracy becomes eligible for marriage, three suitors are sent from the neighboring countries Ireland, Scotland and Wales to try and win his hand in marriage. Sherlock Holmes has the misfortune of being the right age to marry.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story is inspired by Brave, A Midsummer's Night Dream, Aladdin, Ever After and pretty much every fairy tale ever. I felt the need to write something unbelievably fluffy.

Trigger Warning for brief attempted sexual assault in this chapter.

* * *

When a young man of the English Aristocracy became the right age to marry, there was a tradition set forth to find him a suitable partner. Three suitors were chosen from the neighboring countries, one from Ireland, one from Scotland and one from Wales. The suitors were men or women of noble birth and good standing, who were brought to the palace to meet the eligible man.

A week was set aside for the man to get to know the suitors and choose the one he felt was the most worthy and compatible. If, at the end of the week, the young man had not chosen a suitor, his parents would choose for him. Unsurprisingly, not many people went with that option.

It was just Sherlock Holmes's bad fortune that his mother had decided it was time he married.

XXXX

Sherlock had been pilfering bed sheets from the laundry room for little over a week. On the eve of his suitors arrivial he had managed to steal enough to escape out his bedroom window. His mother, who knew he was a flight risk, had placed guards at his bedroom door, which was on the sixth floor of the palace. He couldn't simply jump out the window without breaking something, hence the bed sheets.

He tied them together over and over until they reached low enough to the ground. Then he tied one end to his bed post, tugging on it to make sure it was secure, and then started descending down. He kept his feet braced against the stone of the palace to steady himself as he dropped lower and lower. His long coat was flapping around him as he swayed slightly in the breeze. His only light to see by was the moon casting a dim glow around him. It seemed to take hours for his feet to touch the ground. His hands were stinging from fighting gravity's wish to make him drop but he ignored it. He'd made it to the ground, first step accomplished.

The next bit was harder considering his hands were already hurting him. He had to scale a twenty foot wall. He had untied the final bed sheet to use and had fashioned a grappling hook from odds and ends in his room. Mycroft and mummy had thought he had been in there sulking while really he had been making plans for his escape.

He knew mummy would be disappointed in him for running away and Mycroft would be furious. But he just couldn't do it, he couldn't spend a week with three unbelievably self-centered idiots and then choose which one was going to dominate his life. He liked his life the way it was and this marriage was going to change everything. He'd rather live on the street like a homeless man than marry.

The alarm went off when he was halfway up the wall. Sherlock cursed under his breath, he'd been hoping for more time, before continuing on. He could hear the dogs and see lights off in the distance so he started climbing faster, ignoring the pain in his hands. When he reached the top of the wall, he placed the hook on the opposite end and threw the bed sheet over.

The barking and lights were getting closer so he slid down the bed sheet instead of climbing down. It made his hands worse, a burning sensation taking over the stinging but he didn't have time to waste. He took off running in the direction of the main road, hoping to catch a ride to London.

He continued hearing the sounds of his search party but they were growing fainter. Sherlock smiled to himself in triumph but kept moving, not wanting to give them a chance to catch up to him. When he reached the road, he waved at every car that passed, hoping to flag one down for a lift.

He was getting rather desperate when a large truck pulled over. Sherlock sighed in relief and clamored in, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the palace as possible. "Thank you so much." He said to the driver.

"Not even a problem darling, where are you headed?" The man asked in a northern accent. He was overweight with his stomach almost touching the steering wheel. He smelled of fish and chips and strongly of cooled B.O. His face hadn't been shaved for at least a week and when he smiled Sherlock noticed at least five teeth missing. Sherlock smiled back to keep from grimacing.

"London." He replied and settled in, hoping to get some sleep before they arrived. He hadn't gone to bed for the last seventy-two hours, working away on his plans. He was still a bit dazed that he had done it. He was free and wouldn't return until after all the sure to be dull and moronic suitors had left. Mummy would be very put out with him and he hated to think of the consequences of his actions. But those were concerns for a different day and for the moment all Sherlock wanted was to sleep.

He pressed his face against the cool glass of the window and shut his eyes. It didn't take long for his body to give in to his exhaustion. He was only asleep for twenty minutes before a sweaty palm was resting on the back of his neck, sausage like fingers gripping him and pulling his face forward.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sherlock asked, trying to struggle.

"Time for a payment for services rendered sweetheart." The man said, unzipping his flies. Sherlock tried to duck away but the man grabbed a hold of his curls to keep him steady. So Sherlock took a different route, bringing his arm back and punching the man in the throat. The car swerved as the man choked and in the chaos he let go of Sherlock to grab onto the wheel. Sherlock took no time opening his door and jumping out of the moving vehicle.

He landed on the road hard, scarping his elbow and knees with the less than graceful landing. He groaned in pain and noticed the truck driver didn't even slow down. He was grateful he wasn't going to have to fight him off again. With some difficulty he got to his feet, stumbling slightly. He was so disoriented from the fall that he didn't even hear the car coming.

XXXX

John kept telling himself to turn around and go home. This was the dumbest thing he'd ever done and he should just turn the car around and forget it. But then Lady Stamford would be so disappointed in him. She'd been so thrilled when she'd sent him off and he couldn't bear to argue with her. She seemed on the verge of tears every time she looked at him since he'd returned home from Afghanistan. Seeing him limping with a bullet wound in his shoulder seemed to remind her constantly of how close he'd come to coming home in a casket.

So instead he stayed silent in the back seat, letting the driver continue on. There was no way he'd appeal to this Lord Holmes anyway and once he'd been dismissed he could go home and start rebuilding his life. In truth, he found this whole tradition rather silly. Just a week to find the person you wanted to spend the rest of your life with? He didn't envy the man who had to make that choice.

"HOLY FUCKING CHRIST!" The driver shouted and the car swerved, sending John crashing into the car door. When the car came to a stop, John righted himself and sat forward in his seat.

"What happened?" he asked the driver, who looked shaken.

"Something was in the road. I think we hit it or at least grazed it. It was all black, I swear I couldn't see it until we were upon it Doctor Watson. I swear."

"It's alright." John said giving the traumatized man a pat on the shoulder. "I'll get out and look. It was probably just a deer or something."

John scrambled out of the car and hurried over to the lump in the road. The headlights were on, giving him enough light to see that it was a man. It wasn't surprising the driver hadn't seen him, in his dark coat with the collar turned up and his dark hair. The small sliver of pale skin that was showing wasn't enough to see him by.

John checked for a pulse, which was strong and the man was still breathing. "Help me get him into the car." John called out and the chauffer was out the driver side door in an instant. Together they carried the man into the car, lying him down on the back seat.

"Is he dead?" The chauffer asked in a small voice.

"No, it just looks like a bit of bruising and he definitely bumped his head. I'll check for signs of a concussion. Just drive slow and I'll let you know if we need to go to a hospital."

"Yes sir."

The driver got back in and started them back on the road. John knelt on the floor of the car and checked the man over. There was a bump on the back of his head that would probably go down within a few days. John pried his eyes open but his pupils seemed fine so a concussion was unlikely. He had scrapes on his knees and elbows with his hands with what looked like rope burns.

John had unbuttoned his shirt and was checking over his chest when a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. "What are you doing?"

"I'm checking to see if you're okay." John answered, giving the stranger a small smile to be reassuring. Pale eyes looked him over. "I'm a doctor." John added so the man knew he wasn't just some pervert taking advantage while he was unconscious. "How do you feel?"

"Tired."

"Beyond that?"

"Like I jumped out of a moving vehicle and then got hit by a car."

"You what?" John stared in horror. "Why would you do that?"

"It was either that or get sexually assaulted." The man replied shortly.

"Oh god." John's hand flew up to his mouth before he could stop it. "Are you… they didn't –"

"No, I punched him in the throat and leapt from the truck."

John couldn't help it; he let out a small giggle. He tried to picture this stranger in his ridiculous coat hitting someone and in his mind it looked outrageous.

"What? What's so funny?"

"Nothing." John shook his head and tried to stifle his laughter. "It's just difficult to imagine you punching anyone."

"I can handle myself, I assure you." The stranger narrowed his eyes as if he expected John to do something unsavory.

"I believe you." John held his hands up in surrender. "I wasn't going to try anything anyway. So what are you running away from?"

"What makes you think I'm running away from something?" the man cocked an eyebrow in surprise at John's perceptiveness.

'You got into a strangers car in the middle of the night. I doubt you were just looking for a ride to the shops. So?" John waited for an explanation.

"I'm being forced into marriage. I have to choose between three men and it all just sounded so tedious." The stranger sighed heavily and gazed up at the ceiling of the car.

"Maybe you'll end up liking one of them." John suggested.

"Doubtful. I glanced the files Mycroft, my brother, brought me. They all sounded so dreadfully boring. I barely even glanced at the third file, already extremely put out by the other two."

"It's hard to get a good reading off someone from just a file."

"Mycroft is nothing if not thorough. It seems my choice is between an idiot, a psychopath and a cripple. How delightful." Sherlock scoffed and looked very much like he was sulking even though his long limbs were cramped in the small back seat. John tried to hide his frown from being labeled a cripple. He didn't want to give himself away and let this man, the illustrious Sherlock Holmes apparently, know who he was and where he was headed.

"You shouldn't judge people before you get to know them."

"I don't want to get to know them. I want this whole thing to go away."

"Then why are you doing it?"

"My mother. I managed to ward her off for five years. Now that I'm thirty I've become a blemish on the family name. I've run out of arguments and so here I am."

"Except you're running away."

"Yes."

"Kind of cowardly, don't you think?"

"I think my life should be my own. I don't need a husband for either finances nor protection."

"What about companionship?" John offered.

"The three men coming to my home in an attempt to woo me are not looking for companionship." Sherlock turned his head and stared intently at John. He found himself shrinking away from the penetrating gaze. It almost made him regret speaking. "They are looking for a husband that will elevate their status. They want a trophy." Sherlock snorted in derision. "As if I'm some prize to be won."

"You don't think of yourself that way?"

"Of course not. I'd be a horrid husband. I can only hope whoever I end up choosing takes a mistress as soon as possible and leaves me alone."

"You've got a pretty bleak outlook on things. One of them might surprise you."

"I see too much in people to be surprised." Sherlock informed him calmly and then turned away.

"Budge up, my legs are hurting." John said, his knees protesting from kneeling for so long. Sherlock sat up and allowed John to sit down next to him. They stayed quiet until John recommended Sherlock get some sleep. Sherlock initially leaned against the window but soon the cold got to him and he rearranged himself in his sleep. He placed his head on John's lap, nuzzling the side of his face against John's thigh.

John resisted the urge to run his fingers through that unruly mess of curls. While asleep, Sherlock was almost pleasant. He could understand Sherlock's irritation at his circumstances but what he didn't appreciate was being judged on something so insignificant as his limp. It wasn't as if it made him less and he wasn't ashamed of it, much. It was the symptom of a very real wound he had earned in combat and he didn't like Sherlock demeaning it.

John pressed his head back against the leather interior of the car and exhaled slowly. If this was the man whose hand he was attempting to win, maybe turning around and going back home wasn't such a bad idea after all. It was obvious Sherlock didn't want a husband and John didn't want to marry someone who didn't want him. He wanted a marriage of love, not obligation.

But it was too late to turn back now. The gates of the palace could be seen in the distance and they were arriving just as the sun was coming up. John looked down at his sleeping companion, his face looking much younger in its relaxed state. John couldn't help brushing the fringe off Sherlock's forehead. Sherlock let out a contented little noise and smiled in his sleep. Maybe it wouldn't be all bad. John stayed off waking him until they were inside the gates and have pulled round to the front door.

John gripped him by the shoulder and shook him awake. "What?" Sherlock asked in annoyance, all blissfulness of his sleep gone in a second. "What is it?"

"We're here."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: You might notices a line or two of dialogue is an homage to a Disney movie. I might make a list at the end of the story. Also Victor Trevor is Ton Hiddleston in my mind so that's how I described him.

* * *

Sherlock sat up quickly and looked around, his jaw dropping. He stared at John with a mix of confusion and accusation. "How?" he demanded, continually looking around as if he didn't believe his surroundings. "How?" he said again, grabbing John's wrist and forcing him to meet his gaze.

"How what?"

"Did Mycroft send you to find me?"

"And hit you with my car?" John smirked in amusement.

"Mycroft is big on _any means necessary." _Sherlock gripped John's wrist tighter.

"Well he didn't send me to run you over and bring you back."

"Who are you?"

The driver had already gotten out of the car and had opened the boot. John twisted his arm to get out of Sherlock's hold and opened his own door. The driver appeared - just as John pulled himself out of the car - and handed him a walking cane. Sherlock stared at it in disbelief before scrambling out of the car after John. John chuckled and started towards the front door, not getting far as Sherlock blocked his path.

"You could have told me who you were." Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest and had a look on his face that seemed very similar to a pout. His lower lip was protruding ever so slightly.

"What, admit to being the cripple you'd spoken so highly of?" John berated him and tried to move around him but Sherlock blocked him once again.

"You're not even a real cripple."

"Why do you say that?"

"Last night when you helped me off the road you didn't limp at all. I was coherent enough that I would have felt my body being jostled had you been on shaky footing. Your limp disappeared under distress. It's psychosomatic, no doubt from your military career."

"How did you know about that? Read it in that file of your brother's?" John asked, gripping the top of his cane a bit harder.

"Please." Sherlock scoffed. "I told you I barely glanced at the third one after reading the first two. I saw the word limp and closed it immediately. I didn't even read your name."

"John Watson, since you asked." John held out his left hand and Sherlock took it, shaking it quickly and then turned it over, palm up. "What are you –"

"No the military career is easy enough to glean from your haircut, tan and stance. Also last night when you were checking me over I felt the calluses on your hands, indents from holding a firearm for an extended period of time." Sherlock traced them with his finger, causing John to shiver slightly. "You're a doctor as well. Anyone else who had just hit a man with their car would have either called an ambulance or taken them to the hospital. Instead you treated me yourself, meaning you're a doctor with some skill."

"It doesn't take much of a doctor to figure out you didn't have a concussion." John bit back, noticing Sherlock was still tracing the lines in his hand, somewhat lost in his thoughts of breaking John down into tiny details.

"I could have had internal bleeding. But you had confidence in your skill. You didn't hesitate in putting me in the back of the car. You knew if there was something wrong, you could fix it."

"I'm used to seeing battle wounds." John said tersely. Sherlock seemed to realize what he was doing and dropped John's hand.

"Tell me John, how is it I ended up in your car?" Sherlock stepped closer, looming over him. John stood his ground, refusing to be intimidated. "How did I end up in the car of one of the men who is seeking my hand?"

"I didn't plan it, if that's what you mean. I couldn't possibly have known you would try to escape and fling yourself out of a moving car."

"So just coincidence then?"

"Fine, you want an explanation? You decided to leave your home in the dead of night. My train from Edinburgh came in late, meaning I had to hire a car to drive me all night just to get here in time to meet the Holmeses."

"You don't sound Scottish, if you had I might have realized who you were sooner." Sherlock looked annoyed that he hadn't been able to figure John out.

"I went to school in England, my army training was in England. I'm only ever in Scotland for Christmas or whenever I was on leave, recently. The most Scottish thing about me is my middle name, Hamish."

"You're not what I was expecting."

"What were you expecting, a kilt and bagpipes?" John grinned up at him.

"Why, have you got any?"

"Now that is very much on a need to know basis." John finally managed to out maneuver Sherlock and started up the stone steps. He'd gotten to the top one when he turned around. "Oh and Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned to look at him.

"It seems you're still able to be surprised after all." John said with a wink. He noticed the small smile playing on Sherlock's lips as he tried desperately to keep it from breaking out onto his face. John felt triumphant as he went through the doors of the palace; the last thing he saw was Sherlock ducking his head to hide his smile.

XXXX

"Do you have any idea what your little stunt would have done to our mother?" Mycroft yelled as he paced in front of Sherlock. Sherlock had thought about trying to escape again, possibly hiding in the boot of that car that had dropped John off. But for some reason he stayed and he had a nagging feeling that it had everything to do with John. He was intrigued, which he hadn't been expecting.

"She would have gotten over it." Sherlock shrugged indifferently. It was mummy's fault that he was in this mess in the first place. He was not going to apologize for trying to get out of it.

"Do you know how much time and effort she's put into this? She wants you to find a suitable husband and you assured her you would be on your best behaviour."

"She knew I'd try and escape, that was the reason for the guards outside my room."

Mycroft stopped pacing and did a very put upon sigh. "You're clever Sherlock, probably too clever for your own good. But I promise you this, I am not only smarter but I have more resources at my disposal than you could ever dream of. If you try to escape again and circumvent mummy's wishes, I will not only hunt you down, but I will personally see to it that you marry the most vile and desolate creature to ever walk this earth. Is that understood?"

"I'm here aren't I? I'll put on a smile for mummy and place nice with the other children. It's what I've done my whole life. I don't see why I should stop now, it's only my whole future at stake here."

"If you upset our mother, even in the slightest, after everything she's done for you, I will make your life very miserable indeed."

"Spare me your petty threats. They didn't work on me when I was five and they don't work now. I'm here, I'll behave, I'll get married and never have to see your fat arse again."

Mycroft bristled and stalked from the room. Sherlock considered it a moment of triumph until his mother entered in his place. "Sherlock." She rushed to his side and put her hands on his shoulders. "My darling boy, I was so worried about you."

Sherlock smirked in response. "No you weren't."

"No, I wasn't. Do you realize how embarrassing it would have been to have three strangers in our home and no prince for them?"

"And how embarrassing is it going to be me to go through this circus you have planned? To jump through your hoops just to acquire a husband that I don't want." Sherlock replied bitterly, getting up from his seat and going to stare out the window.

"Sherlock, despite what you may think, I am only acting in your best interest. I'm not going to be around forever and I want to know you're taken care of."

"I'm thirty years old mummy. I can take care of myself."

"Would you like me to list all the reasons that statement isn't true? Or should I just get your medical file as proof."

"I am clean, which you know very well. You've had me drug tested every month for the past five years."

He could see his mother's reflection in the window as she came to stand behind him. Her gray hair was styled to sit just below her chin, framing her severe face. She places a perfectly manicured hand on his shoulder and did her best to smile. She'd never been very good at pulling it off. "And what about the way you don't sleep or eat with any regularity. I am an old woman Sherlock, one who cares for your wellbeing. I just want to know you'll be looked after when I'm gone. We can't expect Mrs. Hudson to keep looking after you."

Sherlock smiled warmly, the way he always did when his former nanny was mentioned. "Perhaps I should just marry her."

"Don't be ridiculous. Even if you did fancy women, Mrs. Hudson is much too old to bear you a son."

"What difference does it make? Any heir to the Holmes estate will be conceived in a lab since both your sons tended towards the homosexual."

"I'm aware. But look at how splendid Gregory turned out to be for your brother. I would not change that and I hope for the same for you. You deserve love, my darling." He turned around to face her, baffled by her words. She placed her hand on his cheek and he closed his eyes, savoring the brief moment of contact. "You are so starved for affection, my love. I know you did not get much when you were young."

"Yes, because running a country and telling your sons you love them can be too much for one woman." Sherlock bit out angrily.

"Sometimes yes. It is not just about the words Sherlock. It's about meaning them. Perhaps I could have told you more often had we not lost your father too soon. I know you don't believe this is the best way to find someone, but this is how I met your father and despite what you may think, we loved each other very much."

"I know mummy."

"He would have been proud of you Sherlock. You look so much like him. I know you got my brains and my stubbornness but for the next week I want you to think more like your father. Do not make this decision with your head, make it with your heart."

She placed her hand on his chest and he put his own over it, smiling slightly. He knew her request was almost impossible. He could not shut off his brain, not even for this. The only reason he knew he had a heart was because he could hear it beating under their joined hands.

XXXX

John had only been in the palace for five minutes and he was already hopelessly lost. The place was huge and John hated it instantly. He'd always abhorred fancy and needlessly rich things, even though he'd grown up somewhere similar. But he'd gotten any notions that he was above anyone else beaten out of him in the army. Even ascending to the rank of Captain hadn't made him feel more important. One thing he thanked the army for was getting rid of his sense of entitlement.

"Are you John?" A very pretty girl with light brown hair hurried over to him.

"Yes, that's me." He smiled in greeting.

"I'm Sarah. Sorry, I was supposed to meet you at the door but you arrived earlier than expected."

"It's quite alright. I'm just glad you found me in this maze of a place."

"It does take some getting used to. If you have any questions, there's a buzzer in your room. I'll respond as quickly as I can. Come along and I'll show you to your room."

"I'd be most grateful." John nodded and let Sarah lead the way. He insisted on taking the stairs instead of being shuffled into the lift. He knew it was just his bruised ego from Sherlock calling him a cripple at work and he regretted it before he was halfway up the large spiral staircase.

"You're just here." Sarah informed him, opening the door and stepping back to allow him inside.

The room was beautiful, with large windows that opened onto a private balcony. His bed was deep and plush with silk sheets and a down comforter. The room itself was big enough to house a family of five. John felt small and insignificant in such a large room. He pivoted on his good leg, looking around daunted at all the splendor.

"The buzzer is just here." Sarah pointed out a small white box just above the light switch. "This one rings me, the next one the kitchen if you need anything and the last one goes to the main gate in case you have a visitor. Will there be anything else?"

"No I'm fine, thank you."

He heard the door close as he looked around his room. There was a closet, a dresser and an en-suite bathroom. It was definitely nicer than what he had been sleeping on in the army and even bigger than his room at Lady Stamford's. John had never been more uncomfortable anywhere in his entire life.

XXXX

Like most things extravagant and unnecessary, the week began with a ball. The ballroom of the palace had been decorated in red and gold with a violin quartet playing in the corner. They'd just come from dinner, where Sherlock had been seated between his mother and Mycroft. He hadn't gotten a chance to speak to John at all. In fact John had barely glanced over at him during the meal, which Sherlock knew because he had kept John in his peripheral vision throughout.

Now they'd all been herded into the ballroom to dance. Sherlock was stuck talking to the other two suitors. Jim Moriarty, the one from Ireland, had been droning on and on for the past twenty minutes. The man certainly seemed to love to talk…about himself. The other suitor, Thomas Anderson, from Wales, couldn't seem to get a word in edgewise. When he did manage to speak, Sherlock wished he hadn't.

Sherlock looked around for John, having lost him in the large room full of people. The last time he'd seen him, John had been dancing with one of the servants, laughing easily. Something had constricted in Sherlock's chest at the sight. It wasn't jealousy, definitely not. He was just annoyed that they hadn't had a chance to talk since that morning.

But John seemed to have vacated the dance floor and Sherlock couldn't find him. "Yes, fascinating." He said, interrupting Jim in the middle of a sentence. "Will you excuse me?"

Sherlock left without waiting for an answer. He crossed the room, paying no attention to people's requests for a dance. Mycroft called out his name as he passed but Sherlock pointedly ignored him. He made his way outside to the gardens and found John sitting on the edge fountain, his tie undone, looking up at the sky. When he heard footsteps, he was immediately on alert, fixing his tie and standing.

"Oh, it's just you." John sighed in relief and sat back down.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock demanded in irritation. John had been brushing his fingers through the water in the fountain, smiling slightly to himself. Where he sat the moon reflected off his hair, making it almost appear as though he was glowing. His tanned skin seemed vibrant in the moonlight, making him look attractive, painfully so. Sherlock wouldn't allow himself to think of an adjective more flattering than attractive.

"It's a bit stuffy in there, I needed a breather. You?"

"I was looking for you."

"Me? Why?"

"You – You're supposed to be talking to me, not dancing with servants." Sherlock stood up straight and lifted his chin slightly in derision.

"Sarah's nice. I might try chatting her up later."

Sherlock gaped at him. "A servant?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"Because…because you're supposed to be trying to chat up me!" Sherlock said indignantly.

"Why should I?"

"It's the whole reason you're here!"

"Look Sherlock, you've made it perfectly clear you don't want a husband."

"I don't but – "

"Which means in the off chance that you do pick me, the best case scenario is that you'll resent me for the rest of my life."

"But – "

"And the worst case scenario is that you'll hate me for the rest of my life. So why is that something I should strive for? So yeah, I'd rather chat up a servant and have a few laughs while I'm here than try and win the affections of someone who had no intention of giving them. I know a lost cause when I see one."

"Then why don't you leave?" Sherlock snapped back.

"You're not the only one under obligations here Sherlock. But that doesn't mean I have to trail after you like a dog hoping for a bone. Why do you care anyway?"

"I don't." Sherlock shrugged and turned his face away.

"Because it seems to me that having the attention of a crippled old army doctor would be the least of your concerns."

"Oh God not that again." Sherlock groaned. "And you're only three years older than me at the most, so you hardly qualify as old." Sherlock rolled his eyes. How long was John going to keep bringing up Sherlock's mistake? "Fine, if you don't want to try and vie for my hand, you won't win."

"Good. I don't want to win."

"Good then you won't."

"Good."

"Good."

Sherlock stomped away, heading back towards the ballroom. Before he could he heard John call out "Good luck with the idiot and the psychopath." Sherlock growled unhappily and flung the door open harder than he meant to. As soon as he stepped inside, he had an overwhelming need to get out of music was too loud and all the incessant chatter. It was too much. He made his way back to John, who hadn't moved.

"Would it help if I apologized?" he asked, unsure why. He never apologized in his entire life unless his mummy forced him to.

"Only if you mean it." John smirked at him. "It's not enough just to say the words because you think it's what I want to hear. If you're not sorry for what you said then save your breath and don't waste my time."

Sherlock frowned and gave a huff of frustration. Without another word he turned and went back inside. He found a seat in the corner and plopped into it unhappily, crossing his arms and legs. He wasn't pouting, he wasn't. He just didn't want to dance or talk or do anything. He hated this and he wasn't going to pretend any different.

And it had absolutely nothing to do with John.

XXXX

John stayed out in the garden for a few more moments until he was certain Sherlock wasn't going to come back. For some reason he enjoyed ruffling Sherlock's feathers. He wasn't sure why Sherlock was so interested in having John's full attention. Maybe he had actually managed to make an impression? No, it was more likely that Sherlock just wanted three men fighting over him, to be at the center of everything. He probably had been his entire life.

John decided what he needed was a drink. He made his way along the edge of the room to avoid the dance floor until he got to the drinks table. He took a flute of champagne and sipped it slowly, the bubbles tickling the back of his throat. He noticed Sherlock on the other side of the room, sulking in a chair and refusing to speak to anyone. John had to bite his lower lip to keep from laughing. He wasn't playing hard to get, he'd meant what he'd said in the garden, but he took a strange sort of glee in the affect it had had on Sherlock.

"What the bloody hell have you done to him?"

"I'm sorry?" John turned to find a tall, good-looking man with curly dark blond hair next to him, leaning against the drinks table.

"Sherlock. I've never seen him looking so distraught. He won't even talk to me."  
"And you are?" John asked calmly, taking a bigger sip of his champagne.

"Victor Trevor." The man held out his hand and John had to switch his champagne to his left in order to shake it. "Old school mate of Sherlock's."

"God, how did you get stuck with him as a friend."

"My dog bit his leg. After that everything just sort of happened. He's really not so bad once you get to know him."

"Not exactly sure I want to get to know him."

"Well you've certainly made an impression on him. Not everyone can get under Sherlock's skin like that. He was teased a bit at school. A lot actually. He grew pretty tough skin over the years."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"Just because someone is rude or arrogant doesn't mean they don't have feelings. Rudeness or arrogance tend to be masking some insecurity or another, don't you find?" Victor raised a meaningful eyebrow at John.

John looked over at where Sherlock was still seated. Another man was talking to him, look as if he were trying to be encouraging. Sherlock was ignoring him, eyes on the floor, hardly moving at all. "Alright, I get the point." John sighed, downing the rest of his champagne before making his way over.

"Sherlock, please just – " the man was saying but cut himself off as John approached. Sherlock looked up at John and stared at him questioningly. "Hi, I'm Henry Knight, Sherlock's friend."

"John Watson, nice to meet you." John shook his hand quickly and then held his out for Sherlock. "Dance with me."

Sherlock blinked at John's outstretched hand and then looked up at John's face in bafflement. "Why?"

"Because if you continue sulking this hard you'll give yourself a headache. You're already unpleasant, I'd hate to see you when you actually have a reason to be."

Sherlock seemed to find this to be an acceptable reason and got to his feet, smoothing out his suit jacket. Henry shot John a grateful look before going over to where Victor was standing.

"Full disclosure, I'm really rubbish at dancing, even without the limp."

"Consider me warned." Sherlock said, heading to the middle of the dance floor, leaving John no choice but to follow after him.

John took Sherlock's hand in his and was surprised by how warm it was. He then placed his other hand on Sherlock's waist and Sherlock's went securely on his shoulder. They waited for the music and both ended up stepping back. "You're leading." Sherlock hissed. "That means you go forward first and I go back."

"Right, right, sorry." John took his position and they tried again. John overstepped and ended up trampling on Sherlock's feet.

"Oh for God's sake. Let me lead since it's obvious you have no idea what the hell you're doing."

"I did tell you." John shrugged and they switched, Sherlock's hand going to John's waist and John's slipping up to his shoulder. It was easier for John to simply let Sherlock lead him around the dance floor, to not have to think about what he was doing too much. Sherlock's hands were clasping him tightly, not letting him get away.

"I wasn't sulking." Sherlock said, once they'd gotten their steps down.

"Really? What would you call it?" John grinned knowingly as Sherlock spun him once, John's feet stumbling for a moment and then Sherlock was there, guiding him back into his arms.

"I don't sulk."

"If you say so." John replied, not believing him for a second.

"You're much better at following than leading." Sherlock remarked after a moment of silence.

"Yeah well the army kind of trains it into you."

"There is an actual wound though?"

"Sorry?"

"Your limp isn't real but there was an actual wound, wasn't there?"

"Oh yes, in the shoulder." John answered honestly, even if he had no idea why.

"The left one."

"Lucky guess." John chuckled.

"I never guess."

They fell silent again but it wasn't exactly uncomfortable. John let Sherlock's strong hands guide him over the dance floor, following his lead. He felt Sherlock pull him a little closer so their chests were touching but John didn't complain. John had never really felt graceful in his life but it was hard not to with Sherlock and him gliding over the dance floor.

"Sherlock, why do you care if I try to win your hand or not? You have no interest in any of this. You said in the car that you weren't a prize to be won."

"Yes but you should still want me - my hand." Sherlock corrected himself quickly.

"Because you think you're a catch, do you?"

"Of course I am. I'm a prince, I'm rich, I'm intelligent. I've been told I'm attractive, gorgeous even."

"That doesn't make you pleasant." John retorted and Sherlock stiffened, his movements becoming more mechanical and less fluid. "You want me to want you? Then give me something to want. You _are_ brilliant Sherlock and attractive. But is that enough? You're not the only one who would be giving up their entire future. If I'm going to fight two other blokes for you, I've got to know I'm fighting for something. So give me something worth fighting for."

"You seem pretty sure of yourself."

"I invaded Afghanistan, I'm pretty sure I can handle two blokes, especially considering how much you want me to."

"I said nothing of the sort." Sherlock replied indignantly.

"You didn't have to." John moved closer and rested his temple against Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock nuzzled him ever so slightly and breathed a sigh of contentment similar to the one he'd made when he was sleeping with his head in John's lap.

"You're not limping." Sherlock informed him softly.

"No, I'm not."

XXXX

"Mycroft, did you see it?" Mummy asked in delight as Mycroft escorted her back to her chambers.

"Yes mummy."

"I've never seen him so infatuated and after only one day."

"Interesting man, that soldier fellow."

"He must be to catch Sherlock's attention."

"Let's just hope it lasts the week."

"It will. I've seen that look before."

"Have you?"

"Not on Sherlock. On your father when he met me."

"A lot could go wrong between now and Sunday." Mycroft reminded her, not wanting her to get her hopes up. If he knew one thing, it was that Sherlock was very good at ruining plans.

"It won't. My darling boy in love. I've never been so relieved."


	3. Chapter 3

"Sherlock." Molly jostled him to wake up. "Sherlock. Your mother expects you in twenty minutes."

"Go away." Sherlock voice was muffled against his pillow. He had been dreaming that he was asleep against a strong, well-muscled thigh, rubbing his cheek against a soft and well-worn pair of jeans. His dream had been completed by the feeling of calloused fingers carding through his hair. But now the dream was gone and in it's place was his personal servant Molly shaking him awake. The sun was glaring in through the curtains, making him wish all the more to return to sleep.

"Your mother wants you downstairs for breakfast. She'll be cross if you're not there."

Sherlock growled against his pillow and reluctantly sat up. His body was attempting to make up the seventy-two hours without sleep and his mother insisting he wake up early wasn't helping. He assumed it was part of her punishment for him. If he was constantly exhausted, the chances of him running away dwindled considerably. No doubt she'd have every moment of his time planned and scheduled down to the second.

Sherlock ran his fingers through his unruly curls. He thought about going down to breakfast in his pyjamas just to upset his mother. But if his mother was requiring his presence at breakfast, something she hadn't done since he was six, then most likely the suitors would be there as well. That meant John would be there. Sherlock leapt out of bed, suddenly much more interested in going down to breakfast.

"Molly, turn on the shower and make the water just as I like it." Sherlock ordered, dismissing her with a wave of his hand as he went to his wardrobe. He pulled out a dark red shirt and one of his nicest, well-tailored suits. Molly called that the shower was ready and Sherlock placed his clothes on the bed before heading into the bathroom.

Molly turned bright red as Sherlock began to strip in front of her. He would have thought she'd be used to his naked form by now and over her little crush considering he was marrying another. You think the fact that the suitors were all male would be a hint but apparently not. She gave a small squeak as Sherlock pulled off his pyjama bottoms and pants, taking them quickly and hurrying from the room.

Sherlock showered in haste, making sure he was clean for breakfast. He combed his hair in an attempt to tame his curls, making them fall neatly into place. Admiring himself in the mirror, he thought he looked well enough to tempt John. He had no interest in tempting the others. Their files had shown their characters rather vividly and he knew all he wanted to about James Moriarty and Thomas Anderson.

"How long have I got?" he asked Molly, dressing in the outfit he'd laid out.

"Three minutes until your mother is expecting you." She informed him.

"How do I look?" he inquired, turning round in the mirror to examine himself.

"You look – well…I think you – you look…like a prince."

"Thank you Molly, helpful as ever."

"Well you look quite nice. That color is very…"

"Deep?" Sherlock supplied, looking at his servant's reflection behind him in the mirror.

"Sexy." Molly finished, biting her lip and turning away in embarrassment. "On you."

"Sexy…" Sherlock echoed pensively as he inspected his appearance. The red did look nice against his skin and matched the black of his suit. It wasn't quite what one wore to breakfast but he had a Scottish ex-army doctor to impress. He'd never gone to such lengths before for someone. John was different and certainly the best candidate out of the three. When Sherlock thought about spending the rest of his life with John, his chest didn't constrict in terror. In fact he found the idea quite pleasing, low though he was to admit it to mummy.

He left his room with one minute to spare, heading down the spiral staircase and saw John at the bottom, talking with Victor and Henry. Victor nodded in Sherlock's direction, interrupting their conversation. John turned and his mouth opened slightly and his eyes widened in awe. Sherlock smirked as he made his way down the steps. Perhaps Molly had been right about his outfit.

He stopped at the bottom step and John made his way over, offering his hand. Sherlock took it and dropped down the final step. Victor and Henry were exchanging looks and Sherlock scowled at them as he and John passed.

The four of them made their way into the dinning room, everyone else already seated. Mummy sat at the head of the table, Mycroft and Greg sitting opposite each other on either side of her. The other two had arranged themselves so it was impossible for John and Sherlock to sit together. Sherlock almost demanded one of them move but instead John released his hand, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of his hand before they parted. The small gesture made Sherlock shiver.

Sherlock took his seat next to Mycroft, his mummy smiling at him approvingly that he'd not only dressed appropriately but also had come down at all. Across from him was Jim Moriarty, grinning like a cat, his eyes dark and empty. Next to him was Anderson, sitting a little close and leering in a way that was deeply unsettling. Sherlock was forced to move his seat closer to Mycroft, much to his dismay. It almost made him move further away from John.

Sherlock picked at his food grumpily, only eating to avoid conversation. Mummy was chatting away, carefully slipping into the conversation both Moriarty and Anderson's accomplishments; Moriarty's business that had ties all over the world and Anderson's good family, with their massive fortune. Sherlock sighed and tuned her out as much as was possible. He kept sneaking glances at John, who was once again talking with Henry and Victor. They were all laughing and Sherlock wished he was in on the joke. No doubt they were telling John horror stories from when they were at school together.

Sherlock felt a hand on his thigh and nearly jumped in surprise. "You look really good this morning." Anderson said against his ear. Sherlock did his best to force a smile on his face from the compliment but didn't quite succeed. It turned into more of a sneer than anything else.

"Thank you." Sherlock replied shortly, removing the man's hand. Somehow John's innocent touch of his hand had felt much more intimate than a hand so close to his genitals. Sherlock shuddered in revulsion and did his best to turn his shoulder so he was facing away from Anderson.

A small piece of paper landed in his eggs and Sherlock nearly jumped in surprise. He opened it under the table to avoid anyone seeing. Mycroft was attempting to peer at it, the fat git. Sherlock turned it away and glowered at his older brother.

_Stop sulking. _Was all it said in a neat script. Sherlock studied it for a moment. Clearly male handwriting so it wasn't Mummy. Mycroft had been curious about what it said so it wasn't him. Whoever wrote it was most certainly left-handed. Looking around the table, both Jim and John were eating with their left hand. But Jim was currently whispering to his personal valet, Sebastian Moran. He had insisted on bringing his own and refused using one of the household staff.

That left only John. Sherlock looked at him questioningly and John raised his gaze just in time to catch Sherlock's eye. They stared at each other for a moment, John grinning at him as he put his fork down and picked up a pen, twirling it mischievously. Sherlock smirked in response before John turned away to answer Henry's question.

He had just picked up his fork to begin eating again when the pen John had been holding moments before landed in his eggs. Sherlock made a face but took the pen and began writing a response under the table. Mycroft eyed him suspiciously but Sherlock ignored him. He crumpled up the piece of paper and chucked it in John's direction. It landed in the middle of one of his pieces of toast, one bit of it getting covered in jam. John fished it out and licked the jam away, causing a jolt of arousal to run down Sherlock's spine and straight to his groin.

John opened it and smiled at what Sherlock had wrote.

_I'm not sulking. I do not sulk. And whatever my friends are telling you are all viscous lies. – SH_

And so it continued throughout the meal, throwing the small piece of paper and pen back and forth between them.

_You do too sulk. You are a world class sulker. And you mean to tell me you didn't blow up the science lab at school?_

_ Well that bit's true. But it was only a tiny explosion. They love to exaggerate. – SH_

_ I look forward to you setting the record straight then. By the way, why do you keep signing your name? I know whom I'm speaking to. _

_ To avoid confusion – SH_

_ Just how many notes do you think I'm passing around the table?_

_ It better be just the one. – SH_

_ It is just the one, which is exactly my point. _

_ I guess I'm just used to doing so. - SH_

_ Prat. _

_ Am not. - SH_

_ Are too. Also did I tell you how fantastic you look this morning?_

Sherlock's cheeks heated up at the compliment. Strange how when John said it, it was flattering but when Anderson did, it was unsettling. He looked over at John, who was gazing at him from under lowered lashes. Sherlock felt his cock thicken at the intensity of the stare and it took all his willpower not to climb over the table and beg John to take him right there. The look was smoldering and predatory but not in a bad way. It made him feel desired in a way he'd never felt before. He was forced to look away before things got embarrassing for him. He didn't want to leave the breakfast table with a full on erection.

Henry cleared his throat and everyone at the table turned to look at him. "Victor and I have to leave this evening but before we go we thought we might go for a ride, if anyone is interested in joining us. Sherlock?"

"Yes, of course." He nodded, smiling at his friends. That would get him away from mummy and all her schemes for the afternoon. Sherlock glanced at John a little pleadingly, hoping he'd come with them.

"Sounds brilliant." John answered, taking Sherlock's cue.

"Greg?" Victor called down the table. Greg glanced at Mycroft, who shook his head in response.

"Fraid not gents. Maybe some other time."

"What about you two?" Henry asked Moriarty and Anderson politely.

"I have business to attend to." Jim replied, dabbing his mouth and getting up from the table.

"I don't ride." Anderson said regrettably.

Sherlock breathed a quiet sigh of relief at that. It meant it would just be Victor, Henry, John and himself. He'd never been more grateful for his friends in all his life.

XXXX

The four of them set off from the stables, riding over the grounds as Henry and Victor gave John the tour. When they got past the gardens and to the open fields, Victor got that look in his eye and Sherlock knew what was coming.

"Oh Victor no." he groaned. "Aren't we a bit old for this?"

"Old for what?" John asked, rounding his horse to come closer to them.

"When we were teenagers, we used to race. There's a hill about a mile ahead. Whoever reached the top of it first won." Henry explained.

"Sounds like fun." John said.

"Really?" Sherlock raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Of course."

"That settles it then." Victor said.

They lined up their horses: Sherlock's black one, John's grey one and the other two on brown ones. "You're sure about this?" Sherlock asked John before it was too late.

"Absolutely." John nodded, gritting his teeth in determination.

"On your mark, get set…go!" Victor cried out and the four men were off. John rode hard and fast but Sherlock was too experienced to let him get far ahead. Henry and Victor were whooping with glee as they raced over the field. The sound of their horses galloping was deafening as Sherlock bent his head lower.

The hill was just coming in sight and John was in the lead. His small stature made him less of a burden on his horse. Sherlock kicked the side of his horse in order to go faster, racing to catch up with John. When they reached the bottom of the hill, John and he were neck and neck. It was all about who could get up the hill faster.

Their horses went up and up, galloping at high speed, neither of them giving or gaining an inch. John was laughing happily and Sherlock couldn't help joining in until they were both forced to pull on the reigns or risk going over the side of the hill.

John dismounted, balancing on his good leg as he threw the bad one over. John patted his horse and whispered something softly to it. Sherlock got down as well and they waited for the other two to join them. "You know, I wasn't going to come." John said quietly to Sherlock.

"I'm glad you did."

"Me too." John beamed up at him. "No matter what happens, I'm glad to have met you."

Sherlock took a deep breath. "John, I'm fairly certain I've made my decision."

"Have you?" John asked, trying not to sound too interested.

"Yes." Sherlock nodded.

"You shouldn't rush into these thing, you know." John teased, stepping closer to Sherlock. "It's only been two days."

"I realized it after only one." Sherlock stepped closer still, their chests pressed together.

"And what about the things you said in the car here? All that talk about not wanting a husband."

"Had I known who you were, I would not have been so candid."

"You mean you would have lied." John translated, frowning slightly. Well that was no good. John shouldn't have been frowning while Sherlock was confessing his feelings.

"I couldn't have known that you would be so…"

"So what?" John prompted.

"You're never out of my thoughts John."

John smiled up at him, making Sherlock's insides flip. "But you still don't want a husband."

"I didn't, up until yesterday."

"And what happened yesterday?" John asked challengingly.

John licked his lips as Sherlock moved his face closer, their lips just inches apart. "You."

"Hey you two!" Victor called out, interrupting them. Sherlock turned and almost began shouting at his friend. "Your mum wants to see John right away. She says it's urgent."

John glanced at Sherlock in surprise and Sherlock shrugged, unsure what it could be about. John got back on his horse quickly and followed Victor back. Sherlock took a moment to compose himself before mounting and racing to see what the trouble was.

XXXX

When John entered the throne room with Victor at his side, the first thing he saw was Jim Moriarty. He was speaking but John couldn't actually hear what he was saying, his own breathing and heart pumping in his ears too loud to make anything out. Victor gave him a worried look and it seemed whatever Moriarty was saying was bad.

At the other end of the room there were five thrones. Mrs. Holmes sat in the middle and most extravagant one. To her left were Mycroft and his husband Greg. The two on the right were vacant because of course Sherlock hadn't made it back yet and the other was ready for whomever he chose. _Me, _John thought and it made him somewhat dizzy, even on top of running to the throne room so quickly that he still couldn't catch his breath. _He's going to pick me. _

Just as John had finished thinking it, Sherlock entered the room with Henry, both doors of the room swinging open dramatically. "What's going on?" he demanded, making his way to the front of the room.

"John Watson is possibly being convicted of treason." Mrs. Holmes replied and John stared at her in a mix of horror and confusion. Sherlock stopped walking at her words and turned so he could meet John's eye.

"What? Why?" Sherlock asked, standing halfway between his throne and John, his gaze shifting between John and his mother.

"If what James is saying is correct, John has impersonated royalty and lied to her Majesty the Queen." Mycroft informed him.

"It must be a lie." Sherlock said, looking to John for confirmation, which he very much wanted to give.

"Your Majesty, if I might speak –" John stepped forward to defend himself, unable to meet Sherlock's expectant stare.

"The Queen does not address peasants, especially not one's who have committed treason." Mycroft spat angrily, as if John's mere presence were insulting to him.

"I neither lied nor impersonated royalty." John said calmly, placing his hands behind his back. "Nor did I come here under false pretences."

"You're not of noble birth." Moriarty cut in. "I've seen your birth certificate."

"No, I'm not." John explained.

"Ha!" Jim laughed triumphantly.

"Arrest him." Mycroft yelled and the guards at the door began to move.

"No!" Sherlock lunged towards John, ready to defend him. Henry and Victor stood closer to John as well looking ready to join the fight.

"Wait." Mrs. Holmes put her hand up and everybody stopped moving. "Let John explain himself before a decision is reached."

"My sister Harriet and I are the wards of Lady Stamford. My parents were very dear friends of hers; my father was her personal physician. When my parents died, Lady Stamford took my sister and I in and raised us as her own. I may not have been born royal, but I have lived as such for the last twenty-three years of my life. I did not come here to fool her majesty and her sons. Mike Stamford, Lady Stamford's son was supposed to be here. Mike, however, had fallen in love with a woman named Elizabeth and they eloped together just a week ago. Lady Stamford, having no other male heir to send, and I – recently returned from Afghanistan – was the best she had to offer. She sent me as a last minute replacement for Mike. We were simply the victims for circumstances and bad timing. I did not come here to trick anyone, I have lived and behave as royalty almost my entire life. I am the best Scotland has to offer. Neither treason nor trickery were my intent. I am simply the last minute stand in because the man who should be before you fell in love."

"You must be of noble birth to compete for the hand of the Prince." James Moriarty pointed out.

Everyone looked to Lady Holmes for her decision. John glanced over at Sherlock and gave him an apologetic look. Sherlock shook his head in return, communicating that he didn't care. When Mrs. Holmes stood, the entire room went eerily quiet so not even people's breathing could be heard. In all likelihood, most people in the room were holding theirs.

"Lady Stamford was once a very good friend of mine. It seems to me that if she deems you worthy of my son, I will trust her judgment. I would have appreciated a bit of warning on her part but seeing as it was all done in a hurry, I will forgive her this oversight. John, you may stay, and the decision on whether this affects your worthiness to win the heart and hand of my son remains entirely up to him."

Sherlock walked forward and took his mother's hand, giving her a light kiss on the cheek. "Thank you mummy."

"You're welcome my darling."

XXXX

John awoke with a start, his heart racing and his breath coming in giant gulps. He tried to calm down, to remind himself that it was just a dream but it had felt so real. His mind was always cruel, replaying things that had actually happened to him. His mind enjoyed supplying him with his worst memories of Afghanistan while he slept.

He got out of bed; knowing sleep would escape him for a while. It always did after one of his nightmares. He grabbed his cane and put on a dressing gown. The palace was quiet as he made his way down the staircase. His leg was bothering him more than usual and he would have preferred to take the lift but he assumed it would be too noisy.

The night was warm with a slight breeze. John took a deep breath and felt better already. The grounds were huge and the last thing he wanted was to get lost. They'd find him in the morning, wandering around with no idea where he was. There was a cobblestone path lead off to the left. John figured if he stayed on the path, he wouldn't get lost.

John walked aimlessly, keeping to the path but lost in his thoughts. He had come close to being labeled a traitor and possibly killed had Mrs. Holmes not shown mercy. He was honestly surprised he had been allowed to stay. Lady Holmes was not exactly known for her compassion.

The path veered off in two different directions, one heading through the gardens and the other towards the lake. John decided a walk along the water was just what he needed. He had just gotten close enough to the water that he could see a figure standing in it. The tall dark figure, slightly in shadow, had their trousers rolled up to their knees. They stood in the lake, skipping rocks across the surface.

The moon rose slightly in the sky, bathing the figure in its light and John gasped. Sherlock, in nothing but pyjama bottoms, stood in the water, the moon reflecting off his pale skin. John moved so he was slightly hidden behind a tree and watched Sherlock for a moment. He had every intention of making his presence known but it turned out it was unnecessary.

"Couldn't sleep?" Sherlock called out and John blushed, knowing he had been caught staring.

"Uh, no." John came out from behind the tree and walked closer.

Sherlock turned to look at him, his eyes extremely pale in the light of the moon. His hair a deep contrast to his alabaster skin. "Nightmare?" Sherlock asked as John drew closer.

"How did you know?"

"You've just returned from Afghanistan. Soldiers are known to be able to sleep anywhere, let alone in a comfortable bed with sheets that have an 800 thread count. It's unlikely you wouldn't sleep through the night unless something woke you. Nightmare is the most likely."

"Brilliant." John gave him a smile.

"Child's play." Sherlock shrugged and bent over, feeling under the water for more stones to throw. John had to look away from the rather magnificent view Sherlock was supplying him with. "Are you just going to stand there all night or are you coming in?"

John shucked off his dressing gown, realizing he had nothing on underneath except his pants. The water wasn't unbearably cold, so he managed to make his way over to Sherlock rather quickly. "What about you?" he asked conversationally, hoping to distract Sherlock from his nakedness.

"What about me?" Sherlock responded, placing a stone in John's hand.

"Why are you awake at this hour."

"I don't sleep, at least, not if I can help it."

"You don't sleep?" John stared at him incredulously. "Are you some kind of insomniac?"

"Sleeping is boring. There's so many other things to be doing."

"Sherlock, your body needs rest!" John scolded.

"Is that your professional opinion doctor?" Sherlock smirked and skipped his rock. It skipped three times before sinking into the water.

"Yes, it is. Doesn't your mum or your brother object to your staying up all hours of the night?" John skipped his rock. It went once before dropping into the water.

"They don't exactly know about it."

"Sherlock." John chided as he was handed another rock.

"I get about four hours a night. My body doesn't require more than that."

"That's because you've starved it on sleep."

"I'm perfectly fine John and I don't need to be lectured on my sleeping habits." Sherlock said curtly, letting John know from his tone that the discussion was very much over.

They skipped rocks in silence for a while. John was starting to get the hang of it, his rocks skipping for longer across the lake. "Sherlock, what you said earlier about making your decision."

"Yes, I recall."

"I just want to know why."

"Why what?"

"Why me? It's only been two days."

"And I told you one was sufficient."

"But how can you know?"

"John." Sherlock stepped close enough that John could feel the body heat radiating off him. "You're the only one that's interesting. You surprised me. And you're the only one who seems to have done anything with their life."

"The army wasn't so much a choice so much as an obligation."

"You're also a doctor." Sherlock reminded him.

"I had to do something with my life." John said modestly. "I couldn't spend it going to parties and functions. Luckily Lady Stamford had Mike and Harry for that kind of thing. I was more or less free to do what I wanted."

"You said the army was an obligation?"

"It was in a way. I wanted to go but it's expected that a member of the Scottish royal family will serve in the military."

"You've actually managed to do something of value with your life."

"Jim has his billion dollar company."

"Boring." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "The other two want a trophy husband, someone to place on a pedestal and parade around going 'look at what I've won' but you… I want a companion if I'm to do this marriage thing. Someone who will treat me as an equal and not as property."

"But what is it about me specifically?"

"Well…" Sherlock stepped even closer and placed his hands on John's chest, his long fingers dancing over his tanned skin. "You're loyal and brave, noble and fun. You're not stuck up like most royalty I meet. You're wounded but not broken. You're –"

Sherlock had been tracing John's scar on his shoulder. Suddenly he pulled away as if he'd been burner. "Oh god." Sherlock covered his hand over his mouth and stared wide-eyed at John.

"I know it's ugly." John looked down at his shoulder.

"It's not that." Sherlock surged forward and grasped John's face in both his hands. He pressed their foreheads together and John could feel Sherlock's breath on his face. "It's not that, it's not that."

"Then what is it?" John asked, placing his hands on Sherlock's arms, rubbing them soothingly. Sherlock closed his eyes and seemed to be breathing erratically. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock's eyes snapped open. "It's you." He whispered as if he didn't quite believe John was real. "It's really you."

"What's me?" John asked in concern. "Sherlock, are you alright?"

"John, tell me you fancy me." Sherlock demanded.

"What?"

"I know you do. Just say it."

"I've already told you that you're attractive." John shook his head slightly in confusion.

"Please." Sherlock scoffed. "Attractiveness is the lowest level of beauty. All attractive really means is not ugly."

"Sherlock, you know what you look like."

"I know my own perceptions of my beauty. I want to know yours." Sherlock looked at him pleadingly.

"What should I say Sherlock?" John asked, moving his hands up Sherlock's arms until they rested on his shoulders. "Should I tell you about your eyes?"

"My eyes?"

"Yes, your eyes. The way they change color depending on the light. Sometimes they're the most startling blue, with entire universes contained inside them. Or they can be cloudy and grey, like a foggy London sky. Or green, the most amazing emerald green. I've never seen eyes like yours."

Sherlock smiled slightly, his breathing becoming calmer as John spoke. "What else?"

"Your hair and its perfect, messy curls. They would wrap perfectly around my fingers so I could tug you down for a kiss." A shiver ran through Sherlock as John pushed one hand up into his hair. "Or your long limbs that should make you awkward but have just made you graceful. Your long, elegant neck." John ghosted his lips over it slowly. "Begging to be ravished with kisses and love bites."

"John." Sherlock moaned softly, quickly losing himself in John's words.

"Perhaps I should compliment your lips. Your perfectly extraordinary lips that need more than mere kissing. They need to be claimed." John took his free hand and brushed his thumb over Sherlock's bottom lip. "You are striking Sherlock. You could stand out in a room of a thousand." John moved so his lips brushed against Sherlock's ear. "Every inch of you is perfect."

"Oh god." Sherlock groaned. "You're real. It's you and you're real."

"Yes I'm real Sherlock. What are you on about?"

"All those years I never dreamed. I never thought someone like you could possibly exist."

"I do, I'm real." John said, stroking Sherlock's hair soothingly.

"John, I would very much like you to kiss me now." Sherlock tilted his head so his lips would be able to slot perfectly against John's. He could taste John's breath as it mingled with his own. They were a mere inch away and every fiber of Sherlock's being was buzzing with excitement.

"Master Sherlock." Someone called out and John broke away immediately.

Sherlock groaned in frustration and turned to see who had called out his name. Moran, Moriarty's valet was standing on the edge of the lake. "What? What is it?"

"Your mother told me to come fetch you. She wants you in bed immediately. She told me to ask nicely first and if you didn't comply I was to use force."

"Fine." Sherlock grumbled. He looked over at John but John was staring at his feet, his cheeks red from the embarrassment of having gotten caught, both of them shirtless, moments away from kissing. Their eyes met in their reflections on the water and John grinned at him. Sherlock smiled in return before his movement made the water ripple as he made his way out of the lake. Reluctantly, he followed Sebastian back to the palace, staring at John until he was out of his line of sight.

XXXX

"That was close." Jim Moriarty snarled as he placed the mirror back on his dresser. He'd just watched in the mirror as Sherlock and John got uncomfortably close. "Too close."

"I stopped them just in time." Sebastian said.

"Yes, very good Sebastian. We can't let Sherlock and John kiss or this is all over. How are they already there after only two days?"

"It's going to be difficult keeping them apart for the next five."

"We won't have to." Jim said, turning towards his valet and grinning conspiratorially. "Tomorrow I'm going to go talk to the witch."

"You think she can help?"

"I just need a love potion and then John Watson will no longer be a problem. I thought exposing the inferiority of his birth would be enough to get rid of him. Now it seems that we'll have to go to plan B."

"Yes boss."

Jim picked up the mirror again; this time it showed him Sherlock in his bed. Sherlock was staring up at his ceiling wistfully, refusing to go to sleep. "Don't worry love, I'll stop you being bored." He ran his finger over Sherlock's cheek. "We were made for each other Sherlock."


End file.
